


Lips, meet teeth and tongue

by Konfessor2U



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Frottage, M/M, No Plot, PWP, Possessive Behavior, Shameless Smut, Voyeurism, Witcher super senses, here there be smut, hmm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22156018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konfessor2U/pseuds/Konfessor2U
Summary: Geralt's keen superhuman senses pick up on Jaskier's attempt to get off, quietly.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 797





	Lips, meet teeth and tongue

Jaskier probably thought that he was being quiet, which was a rarity for the bard even on a good day. Quiet was not a skill in his repertoire. With Geralt’s enhanced Witcher hearing it was obvious that Jaskier was pleasuring himself. His clothes rustled quietly, rhythmically, and occasionally Geralt could hear an almost soundless, breathy gasp. Animals made their night noises and the crimson embers of the dying fire between them popped. To any normal human, it would otherwise be silent.

Geralt smiled and sympathized with him. It was hard to find satisfaction on the road. It was especially frustrating when finding four walls and a roof was as difficult these days. Towns were few and far between and the towns they did happen upon looked at Geralt with disgust despite the jovial tunes and romanticized poetry sung by his traveling companion.

He risked a glance over the embers. He supposed that he should make it known that he was awake, clear his throat or speak. Geralt found himself enraptured by the shadowy outline of Jaskier, and silently thanked the alchemists for his enhanced night vision, as well as his hearing. He could very clearly see Jaskier's eyes, squeezed shut tight in pleasure, and his teeth biting into the soft flesh of his lip. He was biting down hard enough to leave tiny indents and the thought of how red and plump those lips would be in the morning made his head feel foggy with lust.

As his gaze slowly shifted down the bard’s body, taking in every perfect detail, Geralt was a little disappointed to see him still fully clothed. One of Jaskier’s hands was stuffed into the front of his trousers, and the other hand was awkwardly under him down the back. Geralt didn’t need to see underneath the other man's fancy attire to know what he was doing to himself over there.

Jaskier’s hips suddenly jolted up sharply and he let out one tiny gasp slightly louder than the others and all movement stopped. Geralt looked to Jaskier’s face, his eyes were now wide open in fear and his neck angled, straining to suss out if the Witcher had heard him. Of course, he had heard him. Everyone knew of the fabled enhanced senses Witchers used for monster hunting. After a few long moments, he took pity on the bard. Geralt stood and without comment he walked out into the woods, ignoring the fire growing in the pit of his stomach, ignited by seeing the poet so aroused.

Once Geralt was beyond the tree line he stopped and focused his senses on Jaskier once more. He heard a sigh of relief from behind him followed by silence. Honestly, he figured that he would find his own quiet spot, see to himself, and return to the camp to finally get some fucking sleep. Hopefully, Jaskier would also be finished so he wouldn’t be tortured again, teased. 

Geralt reached down to readjust himself in his leather trousers, and just as he was about to step away, Jaskier moaned. _Fucking moaned._ Geralt’s head felt very dizzy now, his movements heavy and slow with lust. He hummed to himself and let his head drop back. His yellow eyes scanned the night sky wishing it, willing it to tell him what to do. He knew that it wouldn’t, but he really needed something right now, just a little bit of strength, because he was about to lose it. Jaskier’s moan turned into a small gasp and his rapid breathing hitched, seemingly hanging right on the edge. The bard must have thought, and rightly so, that Geralt had left their camp for the sake of privacy and he wasn’t holding anything back now.

The Witcher watched Jaskier writhing between his own hands, the thrusts becoming more and more frantic. Geralt quietly stalked around the camp, his boots barely disturbing the forest floor. Years of training for the hunting and killing of beasts, and now his elite stealth was helping him to get a better view of the bard. _His_ bard.

Geralt crouched down low and settled back on his heels, just watching. He was closer to Jaskier now, so close that he could smell the precum, he could smell the sweat and desire. It was sweet and he took in a slow and controlled breath through his nose. The smell of it was having a serious effect on him, the equivalent to an entire flagon of wine, or six. He was completely drunk on Jaskier and he knew he needed to speak up soon. Even a Witcher knew when boundaries were being crossed. 

He stepped out into the clearing and looked down at Jaskier. He was practically trembling now, his body drawing tighter and tighter with each undulation. Geralt was _hungry_ for him.

“Jaskier.” His voice grated out the bard’s name, huskier than usual from disuse and how fucking turned on he was. Jaskier’s eyes flew open, “Oh, fuck!” His body shuddered as his orgasm washed over him, his blue eyes never leaving Geralt’s piercing gaze. The sharp scent of it overtook his hyperacute senses. The Witcher crouched next to Jaskier as the last of the spasms racked him, and he laid a hand on his thigh, gentle but firm, like when he comforted Roach when she was anxious about something.

“Geralt?” The bard’s voice sounded even more wrecked his own, his name more of a devotion than an inquiry.

“Do have any idea,” he paused, breathing in deeply again. “Do you know what you smell like, Jaskier?”

The bard chewed on his bottom lip and shook his head. The tension between them was thick. Geralt could feel him trying not to push up into his hand, he was shaking with the effort of keeping still.

“You smell, fuck, you smell incredible. It’s not right, but I want you.” Geralt growled in frustration, his mouth struggling to form the words. “I want you to be mine.” Jaskier nodded enthusiastically, if not a little dazed, and Geralt reached into the bard’s trousers to slowly stoke him back to full hardness. He used his other hand to open his own trousers and lazily touched himself. He was already hard and leaking, and his cock twitched every time he thought of Jaskier again, trembling mid-orgasm. It wouldn't take much at this point. “I could hear you, even before _that_ deliciously loud moan, panting.”

“Oh?” Jaskier’s eyes wandered to the Witcher’s cock and moved to take him in hand, earning himself a deep, rumbling hum.

“Mmm, yes, Jaskier. I want to hear you every night.” Geralt shifted to straddle the bard, pushing their cocks together and grinding down at a maddeningly slow, yet satisfying pace. “Can you come again?”

“Geralt! Fuck, uh… I’m so close,” Jaskier grabbed a handful of soft, white hair and pulled Geralt to him for a bruising, rather aggressive first kiss. They were thrusting against each other, perfectly slotted together, each attune to the amount of pressure the other needed. Geralt slowed the kiss with a firm hand on Jaskier’s neck to keep him pinned. His tongue worked slow and confident swipes into the bard’s mouth. Each lick ended in a deep hum, he was savoring the taste of him. He sucked Jaskier’s plump bottom lip between his own which resulted in a molten rumble from Geralt that started an earthquake between them.

Minutes later Geralt collapsed next to Jaskier in the dirt, breathing deeply, enjoying the scent of both of them, together. He could see sleep taking over the bard already. To be perfectly fair, he had just had two orgasms in less than 10 minutes, Geralt figured he would sleep in tomorrow and they would have to wait to break camp until midday. Roach would hate that and be terribly antsy to leave.

“I am ruined.” Jaskier threw a lazy, dramatic arm over his eyes.

“Hmm…” Geralt watched the man tuck himself back into his trousers and roll toward him. Early grey light was starting to peak over the hills. Jaskier could probably see his face now so he smiled, just in case.

“Why has this not happened before? I liked that.” He snuggled closer. “Did you mean what you said?”

He dragged the bard close to his chest and tucked the fluff of brown hair under his chin. “Yes.” His hair smelled faintly like the lavender soap from the last inn they stayed in days ago.

“Good.”

“I want to hear you every night. I want to know what you _taste_ like, Jaskier.”

“Oh.”

“Goodnight, bard.”

“Goodnight, Geralt.”


End file.
